


bigger and brighter than space

by nobirdstofly



Category: Pod Save America (RPF)
Genre: Established Relationship, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Size Difference, Size Kink, Wall Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-17
Updated: 2018-04-17
Packaged: 2019-04-23 23:38:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14343381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nobirdstofly/pseuds/nobirdstofly
Summary: “What if I fuck you here, right here? Up against the door.”Despite himself, Jon laughs. “Oh yeah? The whole time?”Tommy pulls back and just looks at him. “You don’t think I can?”





	bigger and brighter than space

**Author's Note:**

> cleaned up fill for [this prompt](https://podsavethekink.dreamwidth.org/659.html?thread=126867#cmt126867) that called for "dommytommy" wall sex. title from Hayley Kiyoko.

Day to day, Tommy never seems that much bigger than Jon, but Jon finds himself noting all the ways Tommy is in his head anyway. Categorizing them, keeping track. When they first met, the differences weren’t as extreme, but over the years he’s seen Tommy get stronger, fill out. He’s always been a few inches taller, sure, and if they’re close enough Jon has to look up at him, but now his shoulders and waist are broader than Jon’s. His whole body is so much firmer, steadier. His biceps bulge in all of his shirts, and his hands are huge compared to Jon’s.

Jon knows, intimately, that Tommy’s fingers are thicker and longer than his own, and sometimes he’ll find himself staring at Tommy’s hands at seemingly innocuous times. During the pod as he gestures in frustration at Congress, or while he’s expertly using chopsticks at Sugarfish, or when his fingers curl around a barbell at the gym. Most times, Tommy will catch him looking and smirk, and Jon will have to turn away, his face burning with embarrassment and want.

Tommy’s got muscle and weight on Jon, and Jon loves it when Tommy uses it to his advantage. Well, to their mutual advantage.

Loves it when Tommy yanks Jon’s phone away when he won’t give up on a Twitter argument, and then keeps him pressed to the couch with one arm and barely any effort when Jon struggles to get it back. Loves it when he tugs Jon off the couch at the end of the night and herds him into the bedroom. He’s made a show of picking Jon up and carrying him to bed a few times, mostly because it never fails to make them both laugh, even as it lights something up inside Jon. He hasn’t told Tommy that part yet, but he thinks Tommy knows anyway. The way Tommy knows all his secrets, like he sat on the other side of a confessional screen for hours, maybe days, as Jon whispered every single thing he could think of through the lattice. But instead of Hail Marys, Jon got easy acceptance.

Sometimes, Tommy will hold Jon flat to the bed, like it’s the easiest thing in the world, and wreck him as he yells into the pillows. When he can focus again, after, Jon’s always pretty positive that Tommy’s worked out this particular kink, and is capitalizing on it. It makes it hotter that Tommy’s into it, too, that he’ll occasionally push Jon up against a door and hold him there, just because he can. That he’ll choose not to let Jon move freely at certain times, even in little ways, like trapping his hands between Tommy’s own to stop his nervous fidgeting before a talk show interview. Or in big ways, like holding Jon’s wrists to the bed as he drives into him, making Jon wait and wait to get a hand on his dick so he can come.

And then earlier this week, on Monday morning when Jon was bleary from sleep and beelining to the coffee pot, Tommy had grabbed him and pushed him against the cabinets. Before Jon could say anything, Tommy had shoved off Jon’s boxer briefs and lifted him up onto the counter. Jon went from zero to one-hundred in the time it took Tommy to wrap a hand around his dick. Hard so fast it made him dizzy, still confused thanks to the lack of caffeine.

Tommy had pulled his hips until he was at the edge of the counter, balanced precariously if not for Tommy’s body pinning him back against the cabinet doors, one of Tommy’s strong hands holding him there. Tommy had gotten out his own cock and wrapped a big hand around both of them, aided by lube that Jon didn’t even see before.

“You planned this?” Jon panted out, but Tommy had just smiled, sharp, and kissed him until they both came.

He’d situated Jon more solidly on the counter after, rightfully not trusting Jon’s legs, and pushed a cup of coffee into his hands. They drank in companionable silence, Jon knocking his heels against a drawer below him while Tommy crowded in close at his side, an arm looped around Jon’s waist.

It’d been nice, really nice, all of it. And they hadn’t talked about it since.

  

So sue Jon if he’s still thinking about it when they go out for drinks Friday night, Tommy a warm line against his side at the bar. Tommy had insisted that Jon and Lovett take the two open stools, and, thanks in no small part to the crowd watching the game, was staying pressed tight to Jon’s side.

Jon might be lean, but he’s tall, and he’s got his own not-insubstantial muscle definition. But every time he turns to Tommy, to talk or listen or just to _look_ , he has to tilt his head back a little. He hasn’t felt small like this in years, since he was a teenager, before his last growth spurt. Even then, it didn’t feel like this, because he didn’t have Tommy looking slyly down at him. It’s heady.

He tries to focus on the game, on Lovett’s snide commentary about sports from one side, and on Tommy’s dissection of batting averages and whether the ump’s making fair calls on the other, but it’s impossible. By the bottom of the fifth, he’s checked at least a dozen times to see what the score is. It’s still 0-0.

“Alright,” Lovett says, setting down his empty beer. “I’m out. Enjoy the,” he wiggles his hand toward the TV, “innings.”

Jon barks out a laugh, and he and Tommy both say goodnight. Tommy doesn’t take the stool like Jon expects him to, magnanimously letting another patron lay claim as he just pushes more into Jon’s space. He leans forward against the bar, and Jon watches the muscles in his shoulders shift.

Under the pretext of being absorbed in the game, Jon carefully shifts enough so that he can get a knee on either side of Tommy and lean in. Since it’s not the Sox playing, and neither team seems capable of getting a run, he takes a gamble. “Wanna get out of here?”

Tommy doesn’t move for a few seconds, intent on the TV even though it’s gone to commercial. Jon watches him take a long, slow drink of his beer, tilting his head back and draining it. He licks his lips, after, showy, and Jon hates him a little.

Finally, Tommy turns to him, with his whole body. Getting his hips in between Jon’s spread thighs. No one else is paying them any attention, but it seems obscene to Jon. “Why, want me to take you home?”

“What do you think?”

“That’s not an answer,” Tommy says, but he’s already moving away so he can get the bartender’s attention.

Jon huffs out a breath. “Yes, obviously yes, you ass.”

Tommy cracks a smile as he closes out their tab. He looks at Jon out of the corner of his eye. “I’ve been thinking about the other morning.”

Jon’s mouth goes dry. He drinks the last of his beer. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Tommy agrees. “Let’s go.”

He pulls Jon to his feet and keeps hold of his hand as they walk out, leading Jon through the crush of people. “Lyft’ll be here in two,” he says over his shoulder, squeezing Jon’s hand briefly. Jon squeezes back. He can just see the side of Tommy’s grin in profile.

 

Back at Tommy’s house, Tommy shoves him against the door as soon as it closes. He digs his teeth into Jon’s throat as he locks it, and then pulls back just enough to say, “Have you been thinking about it?”

“About what?” Jon gasps.

“Monday,” Tommy says. “In the kitchen.”

“Yeah, yeah of course.” Jon feels like he’s going a little crazy with Tommy’s hands under his shirt, Tommy’s body pushing him against the door.

“Then what do you want, baby?” Tommy says, against his jaw.

“That,” Jon says, and has to start and stop a few times before he can continue thanks to Tommy’s hand working at his fly, “that, but, more.”

“More?”

“You know,” Jon says, breathless from Tommy’s hand on his cock.

“Do I?” Tommy asks, his grip surer. “What if I fuck you here, right here? Up against the door.”

Despite himself, Jon laughs. “Oh yeah? The whole time?”

Tommy pulls back and just looks at him. “You don’t think I can?”

“Can you?” Jon asks, desperate for Tommy’s hands back on him. He sways forward, but Tommy pushes him back with one hand. Holds him firm against the door. Jon bites his lip.

“I was thinking about lifting you onto the bar tonight,” Tommy says.

Jon sucks in a breath.

“About you splayed across it, sucking your dick right there.” Tommy kneads Jon’s shoulder, and Jon fails to hold back a moan. “Then I thought about flipping you over, bending you over the bar—”

Jon keens and pushes back against Tommy’s hand, because apparently he’s incapable of staying still or being quiet.

“—about eating you out.”

Jon groans. They haven’t done that, Jon hasn’t done that at all, but he thinks about it. A lot. Thinks about Tommy holding him down, spreading him open, and, jesus, doing whatever he wants.

“Do I get a chance, then?” Tommy says, bringing his other hand up to fully pin Jon’s shoulders against the door.

“Huh?” Jon can barely think straight, but he thinks that’s probably fine, in this case.

“To hold you up?”

“Yeah,” Jon says.

“Yeah?” Tommy prompts, raising his eyebrows.

“Yes,” Jon says. “I want you to, to do that. _Please_.”

Tommy smiles. “Wanna go upstairs?”

“Not prepared this time?”

“Well, I don’t have a sideboard to store lube in,” Tommy says, and readjusts his hold so he can push Jon toward the stairs as he laughs. Jon lets it happen, lets Tommy guide him up the stairs and into the bedroom. Lets Tommy close the door and push him up against the wall next to it. “You think I can’t keep you here?”

Jon doesn’t know what to say. He’s pretty sure he left his mind downstairs, or maybe in the bar. Maybe he even lost it a few months ago when this became part of their relationship.

Tommy boxes Jon in, fully using the height he has over him. “You love this, don’t you?” Jon just breathes and tries to concentrate, willing himself to not reach out. Tommy grabs his jaw, forcing Jon to look up at him. “Tell me.”

Jon gasps out, “I do, I do.”

“Strip,” Tommy says, and starts to do the same.

Jon rushes to comply. When he looks up, Tommy’s back, lube in hand. He smirks at Jon before dropping to his knees, instantly fitting his mouth around Jon’s cock. Jon groans, his hips bucking forward. Tommy holds them still against the wall. Then Jon hears the click of a cap.

While sucking him off, so slowly it should be absurd but is actually ridiculously hot, Tommy pushes Jon’s thighs apart. He gets two fingers inside of him a little too fast, or at least faster than he normally would. Jon rocks down against his hand regardless.

“Fuck, fuck, _Tommy_.”

Tommy just smiles, even with his mouth full, and adds another finger. Jon whines. Around the time when Jon feels like he might die if nothing else happens, Tommy moves back, and Jon groans when he pulls his fingers out.

Tommy crowds up close, and kisses Jon soundly. Distracting him enough that when Tommy scoops his arms up under Jon’s thighs, hoisting him up effortlessly, Jon doesn’t realize what’s happening until it already has. Tommy holds him against the wall, not like it’s _easy_ necessarily, but not like it’s particularly difficult, either.

“How’s this?” Tommy asks, and he’s starting to sound affected, too, at least. His voice deeper and a little raw.

Jon nods, winding his arms around Tommy’s neck, his legs around Tommy’s hips. “It’s so good, so good, Tom, please,” Jon says, all in a rush.

Tommy kisses him again all the while, pulling him closer, close enough he can slide inside. Jon whines, and Tommy moans, mouthing at Jon’s neck. “Believe me now?” he gasps, rocking his hips.

Moaning, Jon says, “Yes, yes, just, come _on_.”

Tommy does, holding him against the wall and driving in again and again, Jon moving as much as he can to meet the thrusts. It’s not much, since he can’t get the leverage. But Tommy certainly has it, his hands like vices around Jon’s hips as he drags him down. Puts him wherever Tommy wants him, moves him however he wants, and, fuck, Jon is done for. Tommy’s shoving into him so hard his shoulder blades keep knocking against the wall.

“This what you wanted?” Tommy asks, and Jon just moans. “That’s right, baby, I’ve got you.”

Somehow, Tommy reaches between them, using just one arm to hold Jon in place. It takes only the lightest touch on his dick before Jon’s gone, crying out and coming all over Tommy’s hand. He feels Tommy follow him, in a chorus of sounds cut off by gritted teeth, before he stills, shaking as he holds Jon against the wall.

Jon tugs him closer, nuzzling into Tommy’s neck. “You can let go now. I’ll manage.”

“Will you?” Tommy asks, pulling back from him and smiling. “Don’t worry about it.”

Tommy carries Jon the few feet to the bed, like his own legs aren’t jelly right now. Jon is at once envious and turned on all over again. Tommy dumps him against the soft sheets, looming over Jon for a second before he crawls over him to get to the pillows.

“C’mere.” Tommy yanks Jon into him, regardless of the mess, and rearranges until Jon’s back is to his front. He pulls the blankets up around them, and then lays a kiss against the base of Jon’s neck. “Good enough for you?”

“Yeah,” Jon says, already dozing off. “Yeah, that works.”


End file.
